


Big, Bad Sicario Anthology

by CyanideTeacups



Series: The Narco Diaries [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: 2 part series apparently, Callum-centric, Crack, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Its a Narco AU wtf, Narco Callum, Narco Harrow, POV Third Person Limited, but also not?, callum pov, end me, i hate myself for every word, idk have fun, it was supposed to be small, now it is not, pls send help, sicario!AU, sicario!Rayla, why am i like this, yet here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-04-08 04:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideTeacups/pseuds/CyanideTeacups
Summary: Sicario- Noun. sicario (plural sicarios) hitman, hired killer (especially when referring to Latin American drug cartels).A collection of snippets that offer a glimpse into the life of Callum after the mysterious assassin, Rayla, barges into his life. He may not have signed up for it, but he wasn't going to complain.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamawoken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamawoken/gifts).



> Looking for a narco!Rayllum AU? Nope. Yet here we are. To be honest, I didn't really ask for it either, and then porscheczar and I began talking about it. Yes, we are related. Yes, I live with him. Yes, this is my rent.  
> So enjoy what was SUPPOSED to be a quick one shot that turned into 13k words and spawned a companion fic in the works. Please, send help.

 

  * **1\. Of Meeting**



 

 

“I’ve come to kill you.”

Callum looked up at the woman standing over him in awe. She was framed by the light of an abnormally large full moon, silvery hair tied up and swaying in the wind. He scrambled back from her, confused. His interest was piqued. _This_ had never happened before.

She advanced on him, and he jerked to his feet with a snort of laughter. His fear seemed to dissipate as adrenaline spiked through his veins, giving him a clear head. “Okay, very funny. Who hired you? Was it Soren? How much did he pay you? His jokes are getting worse and worse.” Callum was no stranger to his friend’s wild antics. The blonde lived to torment him, although it was mostly good-natured.  This was a bit morbid, even by Soren’s standards.

“I—Soren? Who’s that?” she asked in confusion. “I can’t just give up my employer because you _asked_. Now, lay down, and take your death like any honorable person would.”

“Oh, you’re a real hoot. I’m sure you’re a great hit at parties. Here’s the deal,” Callum said, wiping dirt from his shirt. “I’m going to go home, and you’re going back to your ‘employer,’ and let him know the job has been done. I’m spooked! Yay for you. I have an exam tomorrow. That’s why I’m walking home so late. I don’t exactly have time for a punk prank right now. We can meet up later, and try this again, okay? See you soon!”

“But I—”

Callum spun on his heel and continued toward his house.

He would think back on the interaction later when his grade wasn’t on the line.

 

 

  * ****2\. Of Kingpin****



 

 

Callum pushed his textbook and notes away in disgust. His groan echoed around the study room he and Rayla were currently occupying. “Enough, enough! The numbers aren’t making sense anymore. I can’t do this, Ray.”

She laughed, continuing to copy down equations from the PowerPoint in front of her. “Don’t you have a tutor for everything?”

“No,” he denied vehemently. “My father _tried_ to get one for everything, but I refused. I wanted to do this on my own. I’m going to ring the cook up. Did you want anything to snack on? I’m thinking jelly tarts.”

She finally paused her writing and pinned him with a stare. His breath caught at her amethyst orbs. No one should be as lovely as she. It had to be some sort of crime, being so deadly and beautiful. Although, if he called the cops, he was pretty sure _they_ would be in more trouble than her.

“Tutors for days. Personal chefs and butlers and nannies and—”

“Do you have a point?” He felt his cheeks heating. It wasn’t his fault he was born into money. And he wasn’t very conscious about it. His life was as it was, and that was that.

“Cal...”

“Yes, Rayla?”

“Do you even know what it is your dad does?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. Something with oil? Or was it pharmaceutical distributions? Maybe both?”

Rayla smacked her forehead and looked as if she wanted to shake him. “Your father is the biggest drug distributor in the _continent_. And you’re telling me you don’t know?”

“So he _does_ work in pharma?”

“No, Callum,” she sighed heavily, clicking onto the next slide on her laptop. “Not pharma drugs. I’m talking about illegal, recreational drugs. Your dad is a king pin. A drug lord. A _narco_. Where do you think all your money came from?”

He sputtered, grasping for an answer. “Investments?”

She snorted and gave him a sardonic smile. “Oh, he sure invests alright. Invests in all sorts of things. Like guns and drugs and lawyers and—"

Callum cut her off, not wanting to hear the extensive list of places his father funneled money into. “Don’t you think I would’ve found out by now?”

“Yes. Hence why I’m surprised you didn’t know until I brought it up.” She raised a brow, and damnit if his heart didn’t skip a beat. Did she have to be so magnetic?

_Stop it,_ he chastised himself. _Gotta focus._

“If my dad is the head honcho of some big baddie drug operation, why were you sent to kill _me_? Shouldn’t you go after him?”

She suddenly stiffened, hand twitching against her laptop arrow keys. Callum scanned her face, looking for a slip in her mask. The slight twitch in her eye gave away her stress.

“You were going to be bait. Your death wasn’t going to be on that sidewalk that night.”

“Oh,” he said weakly, not really understanding what she was implying.

She failed to meet his stare, shifting to fumble with her highlighter.

He glanced down at her backpack, cringing slightly at the barely concealed handgun peeking out from a slightly unzipped pocket.

_Oh_.

She was talking about extortion.

Torture.

Hostage.

She was, after all, a _sicario_.

And Callum found he minded that less and less.

 

 

  * ****3\. Of _Sicario_****



 

 

“So you’re telling me… You’re a _what_?”

“ _Sicario_. I’m a hired hitman. Or I guess hitwoman? Or maybe hired assassin is easier for your brain to process.”

“Call it whatever you want. It’s not like I’d be able to pronounce the word.” Was that him laughing? It sounded borderline hysterical.

“Repeat after me. Slowly. _See_.”

“ _See_.”

“ _Car_.”

“ _Car_.”

“ _Eeo_.”

“ _Eeo_.”

“ _Sicario._ ”

“ _Seecareeo_?”

“Eh, close enough. Not much we can do about your accent, really,” she teased.

“Okay, okay. So then… You’re a _sicario_?” Callum couldn’t help the way his voice cracked at the word. It didn’t help that his Spanish was nonexistent.

Rayla barked out a laugh and shook her head at him. “The first thing I ever said to you was that I was going to kill you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that my first thought wasn’t ‘ _hitman’_! I was running on no sleep and stressed out of my mind. What the hell, Ray? You were going to kill me!”

She shrugged and unlocked the car doors, and he hurried to the passenger’s seat. “Multiple times actually. I didn’t decide to keep you alive until Janai tried to kill you, too.”

“ _What?_ That was months after we first met!”

Rayla gave him a wicked smirk. “Yup! You are very good at annoying me. _Too_ good. What else was I supposed to contemplate?”

He shook his head in disbelief. She knew exactly how to get under his skin, too. The only other person that could get him riled up so quickly was Ezran, but Callum attributed that to a sibling kind of thing. “You could’ve contemplated a million other things.”

“Are you… Are you butthurt?” The disbelief in her voice was obvious.

“No,” he snapped, staring out the window.

“I was just doing my job,” she reminded him. There was no mistaking the glee in her voice.

“Oh, yeah! You did a fantastic job seeing as how I am _still right here.”_

She snorted and patted his shoulder. The contact had him whipping around to watch her profile as she drove. “Just know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She leaned forward and turned up the volume of her music, mouthing the words along as she sped along the highway.

Now what did _that_ mean?

 

 

  * ****4.** _ **Machetes**_**



 

 

Callum kicked a rock away from his path, muttering obscenities into the dark. He’d lost three out of five rounds of rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock, and he was _not_ a happy camper. Rayla had a bunch of junk in her car, and he was the lucky one now tasked with shifting through it all for some obscure USB. He glanced down at the pen marking on his hand, unable to help the small smirk at her chicken scratch.

_And the drinks_ , the barely legible words reminded him. He also had to carry a too-heavy pack of drinks back to the party which was too far away for his comfort. He was an artist by trade, not some beefy powerlifter. Normally, he would’ve dragged Soren out with him to do the transporting, but his friend was out of town that weekend, watching some type of sports game.

He grumbled as he unlocked the car, digging around through her junk. He must’ve been outside for at least half an hour before he moved onto the trunk. And with some more extensive searching, he ran into a pair of really rusted machetes.

“Rayla _really_ is strange,” he muttered to himself, slowly sliding them out of the trunk. He couldn’t decide if they were real or not, and he didn’t feel like touching the blade to find out. The handles were like a mix between plastic and wood which was more than enough for him to make a judgement call.

_Eh, fake then._

He twirled them around clumsily, and a plan began to form. A devious little smile began to spread across his face, and he closed and locked her car. He snuck back to the house, careful to stay in the shadows. As luck would have it, it seemed like Rayla had stepped out to take a call.

_Perfect._

With her back to him, he began rustling the bushes. She whipped around, free hand slipping to her back. He jumped out, hollering and floundering with the blades.

“Holy _hell_ , Callum! Put those down! No, no— _Stop waving them around._ And take them back to the car! _Jesus_ , dude. Are you trying to kill someone?” She stayed tense for a moment more before sliding back into a regular, if not enraged, stance. She pulled the phone from her ear, presumably muting it to yell some more at him.

Callum couldn’t help but laugh at the horror and redness creeping across Rayla’s face as he finally let his arms fall to his sides. “It’s just a joke, Ray. You’ve gotta relax.”  

“You are _so_ lucky I’m the only one out here! What if someone had seen you? I just—” She ran a hand through her hair roughly, and Callum felt like maybe he was the only one that found the situation funny. “Whatever. Go take them back to the car right now. Then go say bye. We’re leaving.” She turned back to her phone and continued speaking sternly at whoever was on the other line.

He couldn’t understand a word she was saying, but he knew it wasn’t good. He stayed rooted to the spot a few more moments, unsure of what to do. It _was_ getting late, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to go just yet. It was the most logical thing to do, but he hated that she was dictating his actions. Although she was the one with the car today. And he didn’t really know anyone inside anyways. He’d much rather have another movie night with her, Ezran, and their dog, Zym.

“ _Seriously_ , dude. _Go_.” She jerked her finger in the direction of her vehicle, and he tried his best not to pout. At her worsening glare, he probably didn’t do a good job at schooling his features.

“Fine, _fine_ ,” he snapped. “But I’m going to pretend to be fighting off a wicked dragon the whole way back,” he called. She opened her mouth, but he hurried off before she could get another word out, slashing at invisible enemies with the machetes and tossing in an occasional theatrical grunt.

“ _Callum,”_ she roared, and he heard rushing footsteps behind him.

_Oh, heck no!_ He thought stubbornly. She wasn’t going to catch him, and she sure wasn’t about to ruin the fun for him. If he wanted to run around and flail with her machetes, he was going to. And she was going to be powerless to stop him. “You can’t catch me!” he hollered back, darting forward into the night. He had gotten too much of a head start, even for a trained assassin. She’d catch him eventually, when he was too tired to do much else but sway around.

For now, he’d enjoy the chase. And something told him she did, too. Regardless if she’d ever admit it or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2! Thanks for all the reads, comments, kudos, ect. I am eternally grateful <3 Hope you all enjoy more sicario!Rayllum endeavors :)
> 
> As always, many thanks to porscheczar for... Well, everything.

 

  * **5\. Of Races**



 

 

Callum drummed his fingers along his steering wheel, bobbing his head in time to the music playing on the radio. He checked the clock and sighed. Rayla was late. And if she was going to be late, then he wasn’t about to drive her around. As much as he hated the crazy way she drove, he hated having to drive even more than that.

He maneuvered his way into the passenger seat, accidentally hitting a button on the dash as he climbed over the console. “Oh, well,” he muttered. He wouldn’t be the one driving, so it didn’t really matter. She could figure it out. If she ever decided to show up. Thirty minutes was practically standing him up by Rayla standards. She was freakishly uptight about being on time. And because of that, he felt she probably had a good reason for being late. So he would continue to wait. Impatiently, but still.

A bang against the driver’s side startled him. Callum fumbled for the unlock button, groggy and confused. Had he nodded off? What time was it?

“Callum, hurry!”

_ Rayla _ ?

That’s right. He’d been waiting to pick her up. She banged on the window again, and he accidentally hit the mechanism to lower the window.

“Now, please! Open the door.”

“I know, I know,” he called back, slamming his index finger unto the unlock button.

She jerked the door open, practically ripping it off the hinges, and hopped into her seat. She immediately threw the car in reverse. Stepped on the gas, yanked the wheel. The tires screeched painfully, and he winced.

“What the hell, Ray? I know you’ve joked about street racing in my car, but now isn’t the time! We’re running late to the movie. As in we  _ missed  _ the movie. And it’s broad daylight. You’re not supposed to race other cars in the middle of the day!”

“It’s a good thing we didn’t buy the tickets before we went then,” she gritted out, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror.

Callum crossed her arms and jutted out his bottom lip. “It’s our first official date,” he reminded her softly.

She looked over at him, and her eyes softened. “I know, I know. And I am so, so sorry. But something came up. Literal life and death kind of stuff. I told you I was going to be running an hour behind.”

“And you couldn’t text me?”

She raised a skeptical brow. “I did. Like seven hours ago. This morning.”

He scrambled to check his messages, stomach sinking as he scanned their texts. She had indeed told him way ahead of time she was going to be late. And he had stupidly marked it as ‘read’ before having even skimmed over it. He slapped a palm on his forehead. “Of course you did.”

He attempted to check his other notification, but the words kept jumping around the screen. She really was driving like a maniac, and he was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. He looked up and pointed at the light in horror. This was an insanely busy intersection. “That’s a red light. You’re not supposed to speed up at a red light! Ray, that’s  _ a car _ coming at us!”

She slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel into another lane. He went flying forward, the dash stabbing into his gut. He gasped out, wind knocked. “Shit, Callum. Put your seatbelt on!”

“Really?  _ That’s _ what you have to say about this?” But he did as she said once he found his way back into his seat. He felt his lunch coming back up to say hi to the world once more. “Geez. You’re not allowed to race in my car ever again.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “You don’t know how street racing works. One of these days, I’ll take you on a real one.”

“Then—”

Rayla cut him off in a panic, “ _ Fuck!  _ Cal, did you turn the VSA off?”

“The what? I don’t even know what that means!”

“Vehicle Stability Assist?  _ You know _ ,” she snarled. “The system that helps to stabilize the vehicle during,” she took a dangerously sharp right, and he swore the two left wheels lifted off the road, “ _ Turning _ .”

“I’d bumped into something, but I didn’t know what. So I just sort of ignored it.” He cringed at the statement.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Are you serious right now?”

“Okay, how was I supposed to know! Damn, what a great first date, huh?” he chuckled nervously as police sirens picked up. He turned and looked back, horrified to see a line of officers trailing them. He spun back to her, scanning her up and down. That was when he noticed a few different things. Her hair was a mess. Scratches lined her face. Rips all over her clothes. Smatterings of crimson  _ everywhere _ . His stomach flipped, an entirely separate reaction from her erratic driving.

“Ray… That blood—”

“It’s fine,” she said shortly. “It’s not mine.”

“… This  _ really  _ isn’t a normal drag race, is it?”

Her grim silence was all the answer he needed.

“Well, if that’s the case,” he said slowly, adjusting his seatbelt and settling more firmly into the leather, “I, uh, intend to take you up on that offer to participate in a real street race someday, then.”

“We’ll win that one.”

He offered her a small smile, tapping his finger against her thigh in reassurance. “We’ll win this one, too.”

“In your boujee car? Not a doubt in my mind. They’ll never catch us.”

“Just please don’t crash it.”

She went over a speed bump, and he swore his head touched the roof. The sound his car made had him crying internally. She whooped and stuck her middle finger out the window.

“I make no such promises!”

 

 

  * ****6\. Of More machetes****



 

 

Callum entered Rayla’s apartment, calling her name. There was no answer, but that wasn’t unusual. She did shower more than any normal person, but he just attributed it to germaphobia. At least she was a clean person.

He sighed as he left his shoes at the entrance. Sometimes, she was a little  _ too _ clean. It was pretty ironic because she didn’t care much for her appearance. Most days, she dressed for comfort. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her with makeup, much less with quick gloss. It didn’t matter much to him. She was stunning either way, and he was hopeless caught up in her orbit. 

There was no escaping her.

He went into her kitchen, stopping short at the sight of her machetes.

“Ah, they make a reappearance,” he said gleefully. After his stunt with them, he’d been unable to locate them since. And not for lack of trying. He walked up to them, intent on finally touching the blade. His curiosity had needs, and he wanted to fulfill them.

Just before he gripped one of the blades, a hand wrapped around his wrist firmly. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” A damp Rayla looked unimpressed. Peeved. Ready to smack him.

“They just look  _ so _ real. I was wondering how sharp they were.”

“Did you just say ‘look’? As in you think they’re fake?”

“…Yes?” he pulled away from her grip, reclaiming his hand and distantly rubbing his wrist. It didn’t hurt, but she was strong.

“You ran around with them,” she said flatly. “And you couldn’t tell they were real?”

“I thought they were Halloween decorations or something!”

“Why would I ever carry Halloween decorations in my trunk?”

“You know, I’ve been wondering the same thing. You  _ hate _ Halloween.” He stared at the machetes and rubbed the back of his head as another realization hit. “That must mean those rust spots aren’t really from rust, huh?”

She rolled her eyes so hard, he thought they might get stuck in the back of her head. She picked them up by the handles, disappearing into the apartment. “You know exactly what I’m about,” she called back.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered sullenly. “ _ Sicario _ blah blah blah. I kill people blah blah blah.”

“What was that?”

“Our reservation for dinner is in thirty, so hurry up!”

She peeked her head around the corner and pursed her lips at him. “ _ Or _ we could stay in? You make us something delicious—”

“ _ Another _ movie night in? I thought we wanted to do something different?” Callum had no issue with a change of plans, but he loved to give her grief. “And why am I the one that always cooks?”

“Because I’m going to go clean up some more Halloween decorations really quickly. Now, back to the stove where you belong.”

He gasped, offended. Then he stopped to think a moment, scrunching his nose. “Do you mean  _ real _ decorations like you have them scattered around your storage space, or do you mean ‘decorations’ like your machetes?”

“ _ Dude _ ,” she deadpanned, disappearing again.

“You didn’t answer my question!” 

But all he got in response was more unimpressed silence. He gave a heavy sigh, walking toward the pantry. “Decoration as in euphemism for actual murder weapons. Gotcha.”

 

 

  * ****7\. Of Ketchup Lover****



 

 

Callum pulled out another stained cloth from Rayla’s dirty clothes and exhaled forcefully. He called out, “Hey, Ray?”

“Hmm?” she didn’t even look up from the spot on the counter she was intensely scrubbing at.

“I have a question.”

“That’s great.”

He stood up, clutching the rag and moseyed onto the kitchen. He leaned on the opposite side of the island and waited until she finally looked up at him. But he wanted more of her attention than that. Nothing was said, only a brow raised at her. She straightened at the silence, cocking her head. Inquiring.

“What is your obsession with ketchup? And where do you keep it because I can never find any besides the packets inside of your fridge.”

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?” She placed her free hand against her hip.

“Yeah, where does all your ketchup go?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not even a big fan of ketchup.” The confusion on her face was evident, but he wasn’t about to let this go. His girlfriend was obsessed, and she needed to come to terms with the truth.

“The first step to recovery is acceptance, dear.”

“Are you high or something? Get into one of your dad’s stashes?”

“Huh?” 

“Your eyes are kind of dilated. So what was it? Coke? PCP or weed—”

“Hold on a second. We’re talking about  _ you  _ here, not me and my nonexistent drug habits.” Callum held up the offending article. “You. Ketchup. Explain.”

The confused and irritated look she was giving him melted away into amusement. She doubled over laughing, and he had no choice but to wait patiently as tears flowed from her eyes. She kept saying his name as best she could, but she never managed to say anything beyond that.

“I’m glad this is so funny to you, but I am genuinely concerned about your health. Do you know how much sugar is in ketchup? Not to mention how unholy and innately wrong it is to put ketchup on certain foods. And you must because I know you don’t eat that many chicken nuggets. So what is it? Ketchup on macaroni and cheese? On your stupid Lunchables?”

She leaned against the granite, wiping at her cheeks. “No, no, Lover Boy. You don’t want to be touching that. Is not  _ ketchup _ .”

He looked at her in confusion. If it wasn’t ketchup, what was it? Food coloring, Kool-Aid, strawberries, cherries. None of it seemed to make sense. They didn’t fit the stains. He examined it more closely. Some stains looked darker than others. More like dirt or rust maybe?

He immediately dropped the offending article and yelled out in disgust. “Oh, hell.  _ Please _ tell me that’s not blood. And if it is, tell me it is at least yours. Or I swear,  _ I swear _ , I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” She was infinitely smug, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe that holier-than-thou smirk off her stupid, pretty face.

“Woman.”

“Man,” she countered.

“Don’t test me.”

She laughed again, and, damnit, if he didn’t love that sounds. “Most of it should be mine. The freshest stains are from a wound on my thigh or my calf, I think. No need to be a weenie about it. All this time, you thought I had a thing for ketchup?”

“I thought it was strange,” he sulked. “You rarely use it and you barely have any in your fridge. I thought maybe you had a secret stash or finished it so fast I never caught your bottles.”

Rayla said nothing, clearly trying not to burst out into giggles again.

“I’m not touching a single one of those red ‘cleaning’ rags again,” he warned, pointing at the one on the floor. “Including that one.”

“Duly noted. I’ll put the bloody ones in a separate laundry basket, okay?”

“Or just throw them away.”

“They’re perfectly good cleaning rags, Cal. They get the job done.”

He sighed, “Toss them out. I’m buying you new freaking towelettes that  _ aren’t _ white. I’d think you’d be a little more inconspicuous.”

She tossed him a megawatt smile. “Me? Inconspicuous?”

“I know. But I can dream.”

“I didn’t know you were squeamish about blood.”

Callum shook his head, kicking at the rag as he walked back to the laundry room. “It’s a pretty normal thing, Ray,” he gritted out.  Then he said to himself, “Doesn’t matter if my girlfriend is a  _ sicario _ or not. Doesn’t mean I have to like bodily fluids. Whether their hers or mine or some strangers.”

 

 

  * ****8\. Of Mule****



 

 

It was his last undergraduate final. Two days, thirteen hours, fifty four minutes, and some seconds. He was an absolute ball of stress. Tired of turning down offerings of Adderall and Ambien. He was half tempted to tell those offering that his dad was the biggest supplier, so  _ no  _ he didn’t need their half a pill when he could have literal bottles if he wanted.

He opened the largest pocket in his backpack, intent on finding the allergy pills he swore he had in there. He must’ve been a little too aggressive because Rayla’s hands pushed his away. He turned to her and she gave him a half smile. “You’re struggling. Go back to studying, and I’ll look for it. If I can’t find them, I’ll run to the store for you, okay?”

He nearly collapsed in relief. Every second counted, and she was the sweetest thing to understand as much. “Thank you,” he mumbled, already back to his textbook.

It was quiet save her rummaging. She clearly wasn’t having any luck. Within the next couple of minutes, he knew she’d be up and running to the nearest Walgreens or CVS for him. He was lucky to have her.

“Uh…”

He didn’t look up but hummed in acknowledgement. He was listening. Maybe not fully, but he still was.

“Callum, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think you’re being used as a drug mule by your father.”

He jerked his head up, brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t even know what that  _ means _ . My mind is full of numbers and taxes right now. I’m not an animal. And if I was, I’m definitely not a  _ mule _ .”

She cringed and carefully pulled out several packs of tablets.

He laughed in relief. “Those are my allergy meds.”

She rubbed a hand across her forehead and sighed. “No, these don’t have standardized labels. They’re marked with numbers and letters—” She cut herself off. “It doesn’t matter. Have you taken any of these before?”

“Well, no. I’ve never needed them. I gave one to Soren, though.” Callum laughed at the memory. “He was so pumped. Claudia thought… He was… Tweaking,” he trailed off as the realization hit. He had totally accidentally given Soren some type of stimulant. Soren  _ had _ been tweaking.

_ Holy hell _ .

“And to think I was going to take one whenever my allergies started acting up,” he breathed in horror.

“They’re stored in a secret pocket you’d never know was here unless you were  _ really _ looking. I think the intention was that you never found out.”

Callum fell back against the wooden chair. “So you’re a  _ sicario,  _ and I’m a drug mule.”

“Yup,” she said, popping the ‘p’.

_ A match made in heaven, _ he thought sarcastically as she patted his head.

 

 

  * ****9\. Of Chance Meetings****



 

 

After that fateful night where he ran into the prankster, Callum began to notice her  _ everywhere _ . 

A casual lunch at the Banther Lodge? She was ten people behind him, eyeballing his chocolate mousse cake with envy. He  _ did _ grab the last one. As he settled down to eat the sweet, he also noticed her brief glances of death and jealousy. It was, decidedly, worth every bite.

Quick grocery run at one in the morning? She was a few aisles over, looking rather intently at her ice cream options. He glanced into her cart out of curiosity—There’s a lot to be said about a person by what they were buying. Zip ties, plastic bags, soil, bleach, Tide pods, Takis, and an assortment of berries. He glanced over at his own cart. Chicken nuggets, sandwich stuff, and ramen.  _ A lot _ of ramen.

Mall trip with Soren and Ez? She was relaxing in an enormous chair, sipping on Mexican Coca-Cola and reading some sort of guide to deadly substances. Callum clutched his Avatar: the Last Airbender comics more tightly as he found somewhere else to sit. He always loved hunkering down in the bookstore while the other boys window-shopped and messed around. No pretty, unnerving girl was about to change his routine… Right?

The dollar movies for half off snacks on Tuesdays? She was at the back of the theater, munching on Takis covered in cheese. He self consciously munched on his popcorn and chocolates, hoping the crunching sounds in his head were much quieter to those around him. He could barely find any terror in the critically acclaimed horror movie. The real fear for him sat a few rows back, eyes burning holes into his head.

Dungeons and Dragons game night at that obscure nerd shop owned by Gren? She was contemplating between a variety of paints and Warhammer minifigures. Callum almost went up to her that time, suggesting she look at the back shelves for all the specials and clearance items Gren liked to put up weekly. But the game had already started, and she had already moved over to a workbench, determination glinting in her lavender eyes. His only regret in leaving before her was that he never got to see the finished, painted ork gargantuan Squiggoth. He knew those things could run upward of four hundred and fifty dollars. She must be  _ banking _ . What could a person his age be doing to be spending money like that?

Needless to say, she was literally  _ everywhere _ . And if they were fated to run into one another at every step, he decided it was time to at least get her name. In a lonely corner of the Moonstone Path Café, he took a few sips of his hot chocolate. The burning liquid filled him with the courage to march to her table. She turned away from her novel at his shadow, detailing weapons if the cover was any indicator.

“May I help you?”  It took everything in him not to turn around and walk away, possibly move to another city like Neolandia or Duren. Her eyes were a frozen lilac, chilling him. There was no need for her to be so cold, and now he was tasked with convincing her as much.

“M-My name is Callum.”

She raised a brow. “I know.”

She offered no further explanation, and he shifted uncomfortably. “It seems like we keep running into each other?” He meant it as a statement, but it didn’t come out as one.

An ironic twist of her lips. “Maybe you should stop stalking me, then.”

“I—” This was way harder than he anticipated. He rubbed the back of his head, took another sip of his steaming drink. Before he chickened out, he took the seat across from her, refusing to back down. “What’re you drinking?”

“Matcha latte,” she said as she took another swig from her mug. “Helps keep me awake whenever I’m assigned to kill someone any time after midnight.”

Callum glanced down at his watch.  _ 11:11 PM _ . He cleared his throat and gave a weak chuckle at her joke. “Well, it’s eleven-eleven, so I guess make a wish?”

She turned the page to her book and bit her lip thoughtfully. “I always thought wishing on things was silly. But seeing as to how mine just came true, I might start making more wishes.”

She was so curt and dry. But Callum could work with that much better than he could someone who was practically an ice cube. “My wish is that you’ll give me your name. And maybe we hang out again next time we run into each other.”

“Don’t your wishes not come true if you tell them to someone else?” Her eyes cut into him dangerously.

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before she sighed, leaning back into her chair. She slurped more of her drink, pensive. “Rayla.” She tossed some change onto the table and stood. “Hold onto that for next time,” she said, indicating the money. “I’m known to forget my wallet.”

And just like that, she breezed past him.

Gone.

For now, anyways.

 

 

  * ****10\. Of Masks****



 

 

Callum pulled out yet  _ another  _ ski mask from Rayla’s junk drawer. He threw his head back and groaned. “Rayla,” he whined, “You don’t even like skiing! You don’t like Halloween. You don’t like hunting or fishing. Yet you love outdoorsy masks and face coverings. It’s getting out of hand. This is, like, the eight one I’ve found  _ today _ . Not to mention all of the ones I’ve found in your car. Maybe it’s time to admit you’re a hoarder?”

Rayla stared at him in disbelief, opening and closing her mouth a few times.

“I think you’re secretly this expert game hunter and just don’t want to tell me.”

“Oh my God,” she sighed, rubbing her face.

“What? You know I hate the thought of you murdering innocent deer. What did they ever do to you but be delicious in the form of venison!” He shook his head sadly as he pulled out a well-worn knife. “And I bet this is what you use to skin them. No wonder you always have meat in your fridge. You monster,” he wailed dramatically.

She reminded him, “We’ve been over this.”

“I bet you shoot doves, too. Have you no conscience?”

She shut her eyes, pushing her fingers into them. “I am a hunter, but not the kind you’re thinking of.”

Callum scrunched up his face, trying to understand what she was telling him. “Okay, so then what’s the biggest fish you’ve caught? I hear tuna can get pretty big. Or was it red fish my dad talks about? Are either of those even native to Katolis?”

“I’m going to get a drink. A shot or eight will help me deal with you,” she said with a humorless laugh.

He sat on the floor, fingers running across the fabrics of all the masks he’d found. He would’ve known by now what type of activities she took part in. He was well aware of her  _ sicario  _ business, so wouldn’t she tell him about her preferred game to hunt?

“ _ Ah _ ,” he said, lifting his index finger in the air. “I get it, Ray!” he called, standing up to find her. “You hunt  _ people _ , not animals. The deer and doves are safe!”

All he got back was a muffled, “For fuck’s sake.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

  * **11\. Of Moonshadow**



 

 

For the umpteenth time in the past few months, Callum found himself crumpling up pieces of paper detailing his untimely demise. There was always something about  _ La Sombra de Luna _ . As if he even knew what any of those words meant. And he wasn’t about to ask his dad or Rayla.

If Rayla knew someone was after him, she’d go around on a rampage until the perpetrator was dealt with. If his dad knew… Well, he wasn’t actually sure what would happen if his dad knew he was being targeted because of his associations. And he didn’t want to find out.

He shrugged as he tossed the crumpled words into his backseat. He’d worry about it later. He had a big exam coming up. If someone were to take him out right now, he wasn’t exactly sure it would be a bad thing. This test was scary, and if he were dead, he wouldn’t really have to worry about any more tests.

It was a nice thought.

And so the paper pile in his backseat grew. Once he was done with his test, he figured he’d go back and clean out his car. As soon as his radio was turned on, all worries about the threats disappeared. Besides, whoever was trying to terrorize him would’ve done something by now. Why wait for so long? It’s not like he was getting any younger.

Soon enough, he was pulling into the parking lot of one of the malls. He’d offered to pick Rayla up so they could go study and eat after she did something at the mall. He’d wanted to inquire. However, the look on her face told him he’d get a horribly vague answer that would leave him more curious and annoyed than if he hadn’t asked at all.

She opened the backseat door to drop off her backpack. “Hey,” she greeted warmly, and Callum felt his insides flutter.

She was the best.

He began to list places they could eat, study, or both. He was terrible at making eatery decisions, or decisions of any kind in general, so he usually left it up to Rayla. He waited expectantly for her to respond, but at the extensive silence, he glanced back. The papers were unfurled, and she clutched a few in her hands.

“Uh, Ray?” he asked tentatively.

Her head jerked up, amethyst eyes boring into his soul it seemed. There was a sort of fury burning in them, and he knew some of it was aimed at him. “You have had threats on your life for what looks like  _ months _ , and you didn’t bother to tell  _ anyone _ ?” 

Wow, he didn’t like that tone.

“I have a major test coming up?” he tried, realizing how weak it sounded to his own ears.

“ _ Months _ , Callum,” she snapped, aggressively collecting all the litter. “And if  _ I _ don’t know, then I’m sure as hell that no one else does. And that is  _ no bueno _ , dude.”

“Yeah,” he laughed awkwardly. “ _ No bueno.  _ Not good. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Every second you—” She cut herself off with a sound of disgust. “Forget it. I’m not wasting my breath. Take me to your father.”

The words sent chills through him. “No,  _ no _ . Not my dad. He’s going to have a fit.” He tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but her stoic expression indicated he had failed miserably.

“Do you think I give a shit about that right now? We’re going.” She slammed the back door and marched over to his driver’s side. She then yanked open his door and opened an arm, waiting for him to get out. He had half the mind to resist, but why? He would just do as she asked anyways. So, with feet dragging and much pouting, he found himself in front of his estate.

“I’m going to talk to Harrow. You do what you want.”

She grabbed the handle to get out, and Callum stopped her. “ _ El Rey  _ and  _ La Sombra de Luna _ . What are they? The papers keep mentioning them.”

She pursed her lips, fingers tapping the steering wheel. “The King and the Moonshadow.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know the called my dad the King. Always wondered, but I guess it makes sense? So, then what’s the other thing?”

“Not  _ what. _ Who. Me.”

“They call you Moonshadow?” 

“Yes.” The answer was curt, unlike his usual Rayla. When he glanced over at her, her knuckles were white, wrapped around the steering wheel instead of thumping on it like earlier.

“You know I’m going to ask why.”

“I work at night. Move like a shadow. It’s not very original.” The twist in her lips made him think otherwise, but it was a good enough answer.

At least for now.

“Now let’s go talk to your dad. Maybe you’ll listen to  _ his _ hissy fit.”

“To be fair,” Callum pointed out, “You didn’t really throw a fit.”

She slouched slightly and sighed. “If I threw a fit every time you did something stupid, it would be my eternal state of being.”

“True,” he nodded. In a weird way, he enjoyed it when she flipped her lid.

Because it meant she, big bad  _ sicario _ and all, cared.

 

 

  * ****12\. Of Germaphobe****



 

 

Callum was tired. Tired to his  _ bones _ . He couldn’t scrub any harder if he tried. He collapsed onto the tile of Rayla’s bathroom, groaning. Eventually, she appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips and slightly frowning.

“What are you whining about now?”

“Look, I get that you like things clean. But bleaching down  _ everything _ in the damned apartment is a little excessive. I love you and your germaphobe tendencies to death, but I don’t actually want to die anytime soon. And I especially don’t want to die with the smell of bleach and  _ Fabuloso _ cleaner haunting me.”

“And now he thinks I’m a germaphobe,” she murmured to herself in disbelief.

“I don’t  _ think _ . I  _ know _ . I’ve seen the way you obsess over your car! I’ve literally seen you tear out and replace the carpet because of soda stains. You’re always cleaning the handles from the doors and seatbelts and the trunk. I appreciate your cleanliness. No,” he said as she opened her mouth, “No, I really do. But come  _ on _ .”

“Cal—”

“And!” he added, getting fired up, “You and your  _ showers _ . When you move in, you  _ have _ to help me pay the water bill, Ray.”

“Wait, you want me to move in with you?”

The burning from Callum’s blushing was soothed by the tile he was still sprawled on. “I—Uh, yes. I was going to ask you soon. This is not how I pictured it.”

She raised an eyebrow and her smirk blossomed into a blinding smile. “It’s a very ‘you’ thing to do.” She squatted and wrapped her hand around his ankle. The place of contact felt like it was on fire, and he realized there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his assassin.

A scary thought, but something about the way her eyes were boring into his own made him think she felt the same way.

“But back to the matter at hand before I get sidetracked by you. Showers.”

She leaned over the tub and turned the knob on. It was then that Callum noticed red pouring down the drain. “I’m not a germaphobe,” she laughed.

“No, of course, you aren’t. You’re a  _ sicario _ ,” he surmised with a nod of his head. “And  _ sicarios  _ can get kind of messy, huh?”

Now it made sense. She wasn’t a germaphobe, but no one liked walking around bloody and dirty from their most recent hit.

He could get behind that.

Still didn’t mean he’d be paying for the water bill.

 

 

  * ****13\. Texts****



 

 

Callum was not a jealous person. He had his flaws, but jealousy was not one of them. Rayla liked to joke it was because he had been given everything he wanted, and more, throughout his lifetime. But that was bound to be his life when Harrow was the  _ El Chapo  _ of Katolis. Although, when Callum had said as much to Ray, she’d laughed in his face.

_ “Nah,” she said thoughtfully, “Harrow is bigger than that. They don’t call him  _ El Rey _ for nothing. _ ”

He had to admit ‘King Harrow’ had a great ring to it. In another lifetime, Callum had the sense that his stepfather had been a ruler of sorts. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, the things he said. His dad was an old soul.

Another buzzing came from Rayla’s phone, and Callum snapped back to the present.

_ Ah, yes.  _ He wasn’t jealous or suspicious. But one couldn’t blame his annoyance by the nonstop buzzing and beeping and calls and video calls and DMs and IMs and PMs and—

Another buzz.

Callum approached the table to get his drink, tempted to flip her phone over so the constantly lit screen and blinking light at the corner would stop bugging him. As his hands wrapped around the cool glass of his cup, her phone went off again. He couldn’t help reading the name that flickered across the screen, but he didn’t bother with the message. He could care less.

_ Runaan _ .

It was always this Runaan guy. And if it wasn’t him, then it was Star Boy or Tinker. And it was always nonstop. How did Rayla put up with this? Was she being harassed? Did he need to lay down the law?

He laughed at the thought. She could take care of herself better than anyone. If it bothered her, it  _ wouldn’t _ be bothering her anymore because she would’ve already dealt with it. Honestly, she’d have dealt with problems Callum had before he even realized they were problems.

His sigh was dreamy at the thought of her. 

And then another  _ ping _ .

Rayla returned, two bowls of cereal and some blueberries cradled in her arms. She placed them down on the table and grabbed her phone, grimacing at the notifications on her screen. Her exhale was so forceful,  _ he _ felt it.

“Everything okay?” he tried.

She looked at him and nodded slowly. “it’s nothing new. It never is.”

“Look, I’m not jealous—”

A smile began creeping across her face. “Isn’t that what a jealous person would say?”

“Ray! No, stop. Focus.”

“Are you telling  _ me _ to focus or yourself?”

Were the tips of his ears on fire? They definitely felt like they were. “I just was wondering who they were. Out of curiosity. Because I’m curious, you know?”

“Uh huh. If that’s what you want to call it, Lover Boy.”

He stuck his bottom lip out in annoyance. She was so cute. “Damnit, you could get away with murder,” he muttered.

“I do, but go off I guess.”

Oh, yeah. All the assassin business.

“Wait, stop distracting me.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded in resignation. “Runaan and Tinker are my superiors and very married. I would say it’s cute, but I barely have the stomach for  _ our _ PDA, much less anyone else's.”

He laughed, “Yeah right. You’re a big softie. You cried when I brought you one of Zym’s babies.”

“She is  _ so _ cute! And you cried, too,” Ray reminded him smugly.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. So Runaan and Tinker. Then Star Boy?”

“Oof,” she huffed, rubbing her chest. “That would be Aaravos.”

When she said nothing more, Callum waved a hand. “And?”

“Nope, that’s all I’ve got,” she shrugged.

“That’s… vague?”

“I know,” she cringed. “But I really have no idea what he is. He’s like a famous ghost or something. Kind of like  _ La Llorona _ . You know about her, and you hear all sorts of stories. But you don’t  _ really _ know the truth. Stories is all she is. And stories is all Aaravos is.”

“Okay, you do realize I have no idea who  _ La Llorona  _ is, right?” 

She pursed her lips, nodding slowly. “You’re the worst sometimes.  _ La Llorona  _ was a woman who, under varying circumstances, drowned her two children. Cursed for eternity until she finds their bodies, she wanders around crying. That’s what  _ La Llorona  _ literally translates to. The crying woman.”

“Oof,” Callum breathed, shaking his head.

“ _ Omega _ oof,” Rayla corrected.

“On that note, can we go out to get froyo?” He was already moving towards the key holder. Froyo made everything better, and he knew Ray felt the same.

“Well, is your VSA on?”

Callum groaned, locking the door behind him. “Really? I do that  _ one _ time…”

“One time is all it takes. So. Froyo and authentic drag racing?”

He tipped an invisible hat her way. “Name a more iconic duo.”

“Uh,  _ us _ . Duh.”

He smiled, linking his hand with hers. “Silly me. How could I forget?”

“Also, I would rather drive.”

He was nodding vigorously before she even finished the sentence. “I would much rather you drive, too. Drag racing or not.”

 

 

  * ****14\. Champion sewing****



 

 

Callum decided he was getting used to living with Rayla. Yes, there were still excessive showers and obnoxious cleanliness, but it was nice having someone there. Actually, it wasn’t nice having someone there. It was nice having  _ Rayla _ there. Anyone else, and the living arrangement would’ve been a bust. Some days, he couldn’t even believe she’d said yes.

He really was the luckiest man alive. And probably one of the luckiest men in general. Ever.

Given her line of work, she was surprisingly quiet to live with as well. He appreciated that. Sleep was such a sweet and sacred thing to him, and she knew it. Her late nights were his early mornings. Yet, between the two of them, it worked.

“Cal? Cal?”

He mumbled and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

“Callum.  _ Callum _ .”

“ _ Fack _ ,” he cursed, shooting up straight. He lashed out with a barely made fist, unsure of how he was going to fend off robbers.

The infiltrator caught his wrist with a small grunt. “It’s me, Lover Boy,” Rayla said softly.

“What time is it?” Callum grumbled. He went to rub at his eyes, but she had already wiped some of the crusties from the corner of his eye. “Thanks,” he said, interrupted by a yawn.

“I need some help,” she said with a wince.

He wished he was immediately alert and ready for action, but that would be a lie. All he could think to say was, “What freaking time is it?”

Her laugh was low and shy. “A little bit past four?”

“AM?” he deadpanned, barely convincing himself to sit up.

“Yes? As opposed to PM?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re the one that woke me up,” he accused. “You don’t get sassing privileges.”

“Sure, sure.” The way she said it wasn’t too reassuring, but he wasn’t about to push the point further.

“Okay, what’s  _ so  _ important that you had to wake me up? Is it another spider? I know how much those freak you out.” Last time she spotted a wolf spider, she screamed so loudly the neighbors called the police. Imagine explaining to them that the big, bad  _ sicario _ was deathly afraid of spiders. What a night that had been.

“ _ No _ ,” she said, and he could see the beginnings of an embarrassed blush. Dang, that was one of his favorites. Embarrassed Rayla, one of the best Raylas. “You did some sewing in high school, right?”

“Actually, I knitted. Won an award for best design. It was a dragon—”

“Okay, that’s great, dear. But not now. You can show it to me later. And stop staring at me like that. I’m not going to stop talking anytime soon.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, covering his eyes against the flood of light. “End me.”

“Shush, you big baby. Now, into the bathroom. Come along.” She dragged him to the bathroom, sitting him on the toilet cover. She watched him carefully as she removed his jacket. His eyes immediately caught the still growing bloodstain on her abdomen. The world tilted a little bit, and bile rose.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, covering his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re still squeamish around blood.”

He was afraid if he opened his mouth to respond, he would release the contents of his stomach all over her. Something told him that would help neither of their moods. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Callum, love, look at me. I  _ need _ your help. Those asshats hit my sewing hand, so I feel like I have four fingers right now. I can’t patch myself up, and we need to stop the bleeding before I go into shock. You’re all I’ve got.”

He focused on staring at her face, tracing the planes as best he could. He gave her a dopey, barely-there smile. She was such a sweetheart. Dangit if she didn’t steal his heart anew every now and then. It wasn’t fair. No one should be that magnetic.

She swayed a bit, and he was brought back to reality. “No, I-I—”

“ _ Please _ . It’s time to put those knitting skills to good use!” She was strangely optimistic. Given he’d just woken up, her odd cheerfulness made his head hurt.

“Hell no. It’s not happening. I’m calling Claudia. She’s a med student. She’ll know what to do.” Panic was starting to settle.

“She’ll have questions. What are we supposed to say?”

“That you’re a  _ sicario,  _ and your hit today went a little rough. Honesty is the best policy.”

“I can’t believe you,” she said, shaking her head.

“Okay, then you’re terrified of hospitals.”

“No, I’m not? I thought you just said honesty—”

“ _ Claudia _ doesn’t need to know that. You’re deathly afraid of hospitals, and we got mugged. So, instead of going to one and freaking you the hell out, I called Claudia. Sounds good?”

“Well, why do you look fine?”

Callum ran a hand through his hair. “Alright,  _ we  _ aren’t the ones that got mugged. I wasn’t with you. You were out with one of your friends. But they took them to the hospital because they aren’t a big wussy.” He crossed his arms, staring at his feet intently.

Rayla pursed her lips, nodding slowly. “That’s… actually a really good idea?” He heard a squelch as her palm pressed against her side, and he was woozy all over again.

“I’m calling her right now.”

He had to give Claudia credit. She didn’t flinch at the story, the wound, or anything that happened that night, really. Everything got sorted out mostly. And Rayla was alright once the bleeding was stopped and the bullet was out. It was almost nine in the morning by the time the pair fell into their bed. Who knew blackout curtains worked so well? He could see nothing but felt the warm comfort of Rayla.

He knew he was home.

Just as he was about to drift off, a thought struck him. “Oh my God, Rayla?”

“Hm?” she hummed, very near as dead asleep as he wanted to be.

“I could’ve just called the family doctors. We have three that are active at all hours for everything and anything. We even have one for… ‘family business.’ I’m so  _ stupid _ . How could I forget?”

“Oh geez, Cal. Of course you’d have four doctors on call. Of course you have a doctor for druggie business. And of course you’d forget. But we’ll call them next time.”

“Next time?” He couldn’t keep the whine out of his voice.

“Of… course.” Her breathing slowed, and he knew he’d get nothing more out of her that morning.

Maybe he wasn’t getting as used to living with her as he’d previously thought. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "epic" conclusion to Callum's POV vignette's in my sicario!au. Thank you so, so much for your support! And thank you so much porscheczar for being my beta!  
> If you've made it this far, you are a TROOPER.  
> Keep an eye out for part two! It'll be a collection of vignette's from Rayla's POV (and is already in the works). I'm so excited! Thank you again everyone for sticking with me as we explored a ridiculous au that started off as a "what if..." and the lone word "machete" on a notebook page.

 

  * **15\. Of _Taki taki_**



 

 

Callum leaned over Rayla’s shoulder to peer at her grocery list. They had been going on grocery runs together for what felt like an eternity. It just seemed  _ right _ given how much time they spent together. Soren always said that they were attached at the hip with a little bit of a sneer, but Callum didn’t really get why it was such a problem.

“You always have Takis on your list, but I never see you eating them,” he commented with interest. She continued writing things she needed and wanted as he moved around to sit on the other side of the dining room table.

“I eat them all the time. I go through those things like crack. And honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if they actually put real crack in them. They’re so stupid good.”

“You eat them all the time, but I never even see the bag in your pantry, much less anywhere else. And what are Takis? I’ve never actually eaten one.”

Her eyes went wide with something akin to horror, and he immediately regretted asking. He knew the chips were spicy which was enough to turn him away from ever trying them. He barely tolerated hot Cheetos.

“Cal, you  _ have  _ to try them. I’ll go get my pack from the car.”

She moved to stand, but he put a hand out to stop her. “You keep them in your car?” He couldn’t help the curiosity that bled into his voice.

“You can’t judge me. You’ve never even tried Takis! I like to munch on them before I go to work,” she admitted, double checking her written list.

“You go to work with fingers stained with red Taki residue? Gross,” he teased.

“Well, if things go south during a job, Taki fingers are the least of my worries. A bloody clusterfuck would take precedence,” she laughed.

Callum rubbed his chin in confusion. Why would things go awry while she did her Uber stuff? “We talked about how you aren’t supposed to be running over people while doing Uber, right?” He had to make sure.

She raised an eyebrow and fell back into her chair. “Yes, but we said it was fine if I was doing Lyft.”

Was she being serious? “We did not agree on that! You can’t run any one over in general. Period.  _ Ever _ .”

“Sometimes running them over is easier than shooting.”

He tried to school his face into an impassive mask rather than the vague horror niggling at him. The radio station finally went off commercials, and Rayla perked up. “Oh, it’s that new song by Maluma. Speaking of Takis,” she smirked.

He was terrible with rhythms but seeing her sway to the music made him want to dance with her. So he stood, terrified in a way very different from the prospect of her running over people while transporting things. He approached her and held out a hand, unable to look her in the eyes. He would have chickened out.

“May I help you?” she said, smile clear in her voice.

“Will you… Will you dance with me, Rayla?”

Her fingers clutched at his, giving a reassuring squeeze. “I could never say no to you.” The words sent a jolt through them, and he finally met her stare. Gorgeous purple, clear and true and honest and just a hint of dangerous wickedness that he was falling in love with.

She sang softly, 

_ Baby, tú sabe' que soy tu papi _ __  
_ Como Ozu' te doy "Taki Taki" _ _  
_ __ Soy Offset y tú eres mi Cardi

And couldn’t help her laughter at the end of the chorus. “Did you hear them say ‘Taki Taki’? They’re not just chips, but Takis are in  _ two _ songs now. What a time to be alive,” she mused.

“What are they saying?”

“You know I’m you  _ daddy _ ,” she said, cringing at the last word. “Like Ozuna gives “Taki Taki,” I’m Offset and you’re my Cardi.”

Callum nodded slowly. “I feel like you’re speaking a different language with all these names.”

She stopped swaying as the song changed to another one. “Well, technically I am? Anyways, I’m going to get some Takis from my car, so you can try them.”

“Do you really run over people while doing your job?” He couldn’t help but wonder what her insurance rates looked like with all those ‘accidents.’

She gave him a funny look. “ _ Sicario _ , remember? I don’t use my car to run people over. I use the company car.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, once more reminded of her night job. That made way more sense. “Wait, so you go around killing people with Taki fingers?”

She turned around and gave him spirit fingers. “Better Taki fingers than no fingers.”

Callum shuddered at the thought. “Or you could just have normal fingers.”

Her smile was downright wicked. “And when have either of us ever been normal.”

He nodded slowly and shrugged. 

She wasn’t  _ wrong _ . 

 

 

  * ****16\. Of** _ **Spiders**_**



 

 

Callum was not an outdoorsman by trade. As a matter of fact, he  _ hated _ bugs of any sort. At least they didn’t scare them. He just hated the buzzing and the crawling and the creeping and the flying. Besides helping maintain ecosystem equilibrium, what were they good for anyways? Most bugs needed to  _ go _ .

The most notable of exceptions were roly polies. He freaking  _ loved _ those things.

He gave a slight glare at Rayla’s moving back. Sure, she had lovely back muscles and all, but he was still annoyed to have been convinced to even come hiking with her in the first place. He was made for air condition, and there was currently a severe lack of it. The humidity in the forest was making the trip even harder. He was afraid to complain any louder in his head because there was a chance Rayla would be able to hear him.

Sometimes, he swore she was telepathic.

Suddenly, Callum found himself painfully plastered against a tree trunk. He glared at the littered twigs and rocks, unable to identify which one he had tripped over. Now that he was leaning against something, the burning in his thighs skyrocketed, and he felt there was no choice but to continue staying as he was. 

He sighed, “This—This is nice.” And he couldn’t decide how much he actually meant it or even what he was actually  _ talking _ about. His small resting break? The scenery? The shade? His eyes slipped closed of their own accord. He wasn’t sure the amount of time that had passed before he heard a bloodcurdling scream from Ray.

His insides froze, and he was immediately alert, sprinting in her direction like her life depended on him. And based on the sounds she was making, it just might. He swerved around trees and bushes, cursing himself the whole way. He knew better than to get separated from her, but he was just so tired. It didn’t matter though. A flash of silver caught his eye, and he whipped his head to the side.

_ There. _

The sun was hitting her hair perfectly as she trembled in place, near panic and practically hyperventilating. Callum approached her slowly, arms raised so his palms were level with his head in the universal  _ I’m harmless _ gesture. He made sure to make extra noise on the things around him so she knew where he was.

“Ray, are you okay?” he asked once he got to her, intensely scanning her body.

She said nothing, glassily staring forward.

_ “Rayla _ ,” he said sternly.

Eventually, she raised a shaking hand, index finger pointed at the ground. Callum followed the direction of her pointing, steeling himself for whatever monstrosity awaited his attention. He finally realized what she was indicating.

His jaw dropped.

“It… It’s a tarantula?” He tried his best to keep the confusion out of his voice.

She didn’t even vocally respond. Rather, she nodded just barely, tremors coursing through her body. Callum continued to look back and forth from the arachnid to her. 

He finally spoke, “Those aren’t poisonous.”

“So?” she hissed. The tarantula moved towards her, and she jerked violently. However, her feet remained rooted. It was a strange combination. Callum moved forward and gently picked it up. He turned to look at her and raised a brow as she was near tears. “Holy fuck,” she whispered, frozen to the spot. “What the  _ fuck _ are you doing.”

He knew it was serious when she sounded like that. “They’re actually pretty gentle.” He moved several paces away from the trail and carefully placed it on the ground. When he returned to her side, it took everything within him to not burst out laughing. He could barely contain his smile as it was.

“So. The big, bad  _ sicario _ is afraid of spiders?”

She shot him a deathly look, stomping forward. 

“ _ Deathly _ afraid of spiders?” he tried again.

She whipped around, trudged back to him, and stabbed a finger into his chest. “They have eight  _ legs _ ! Do you have any idea how  _ unnatural _ that is?” Her pitch was oddly high.

Callum couldn’t help but break down at her expression, a mix between mortification and indignance. “It’s pretty natural for arachnids last time I checked. Oh, this is hilarious. Comedy gold!  You’re an assassin that can’t handle spiders and tarantulas. You  _ literally _ kill people.” He was practically crying. “But you draw the line at spiders?”

She was slowly getting redder and redder. Only the coloration wasn’t from the heat around them. “And cockroaches.”

He paused and cocked his head. “Spiders  _ and  _ roaches?” He doubled over, clutching his stomach. If he laughed any harder, his insides would messily burst forth. Rayla would have to hide the body to avoid involuntary manslaughter. “This is too much,” he wheezed.

“Okay, laugh it up. I’m not the one that practically faints if his paper cut bleeds!”

Callum was so lost in his amusement, the jab barely even registered. “It be like that, Ray.”

“All spiders should just  _ die _ ,” she spat, dragging him forward.

“Spiders are my spirit animal. So you think I should die?”

She yanked on his sleeve harder, gritting out, “ _ Yes. _ ”

At that, he dug his heels into the ground. She pulled up short, not expecting the resistance. Turning to him, she crossed her arms and began to tap her foot. “And do you have a problem with this?”

“Actually… I’ve been wondering something.”

“You’re always wondering something. I should sic some poisonous spiders on you so they can bite you and kill you. Maybe then you’ll stop wondering.”

“What made you decide not to kill me?” He was candid and curious. He’d been thinking about it a lot since she’d admitted to the whole Janai situation being her turning point. 

“Dude, have you looked in the mirror? You're a hot mess.”

“Really.  _ Seriously _ . That’s all you have to say?” Her words sure stung like a poisonous spider. Not that he’d ever been bitten by a poisonous spider. If he  _ had  _ though, he anticipated it would much feel like this. Stinging and lots of confusion.

She heaved a sigh and gently placed her palm against his face. He was taken aback by the intimacy of it all.

_ Yikes _ .

He held his breath as she spoke. “You are persistent and oblivious to a fault. I kept wondering how you’d react to things and situations. And then… I started to wonder about  _ you _ . How and who  _ you _ were. It stopped becoming the actual action, but the person behind them. And then when the Janai thing happened, I realized I would much rather have you with me alive than dead. Regardless of your background and the cash I could’ve gotten.”

That made him feel mountains better. Although she still did sound a little salty about the whole money bit.

“You joked about me being your stalker at the café. But  _ you _ were the actual stalker! That’s why you kept popping up everywhere I went.”

“Uh, it’s in my job description?”

“I don’t know anything about  _ sicario _ job descriptions, woman! Oh my God, I can’t believe I really thought it was just a coincidence.”

She gently patted his cheek, and his insides warmed. She really was great, if not mildly annoying at times. “I was  _ everywhere _ you went. Of course it wasn’t a coincidence. And of course you would think it was. You have no sense of your surroundings.”

“Neither do you if a tarantula spooks you in the middle of a freaking  _ forest _ .”

She growled, clearly deciding that wasn’t worth responding to. It wasn’t until much later, when both were showered and relaxing on her couch, that he shot up straight. Turning to her so quickly he feared he’d get whiplash.

“That day in the café. You said you liked matcha before you went to kill people. You weren’t joking were you?”

Her smug smile was all the answer he needed.

“Holy monkey balls,” he groaned as the heel of his palm hit his forehead. “You seriously went to go kill someone that night!”

“If you must know, I was also very successful in doing so.”

Callum pursed his lips in thought. “I… I guess that does make it a little better, actually.”

 

 

  * ****17\. Of _El Jefe_****



 

 

Callum nervously picked at his fingernails. His father and he had a sort of unspoken understanding. All things related to  _ El Rey _ and  _ La Sombra de Luna _ stayed in some obscure, tightly locked closet. It was easy enough, but Callum had long since become more aware of the blood trails and stains and general shadiness that came along with  _ very _ illegal shenanigans. It was as if once he knew what was going on, it was so painfully obvious. Even some of the people employed around the estate were kind of questionable, the more he thought about it.

That unspoken understanding had just been radically, totally, and utterly broken. And he didn’t like the feeling one bit.

Rayla came in, achingly loud. That was rare for her. She was usually very quiet. Sometimes, he couldn’t even tell if she had come in at all. As she noticed him, she came up short, and the smile on her face dimmed. “What’s wrong?”

Of course she could tell. She always could.

“My dad wants me to become the Jeff of his side business eventually,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Side business?” she laughed and offered a coke. “His businesses on paper are his side business, Cal. And I’m pretty sure you mean  _ el jefe _ . Not Jeff.”

“What the heck is  _ el jefe _ . Because I’m still not sure what he expects of me. I barely even knew he was involved in this funky monkey stuff until you told me!”

“ _ El jefe _ would translate to the boss. He wants you to take over for him,” she trailed off. She seemed frozen for a moment before she dragged into the kitchen. “Holy shit, he wants you to  _ be _ him.”

Callum gave a weak laugh. “Oh.”

“Oh my God,” she continued somewhere behind him. “Oh my God.”

“Why are you the one freaking out?” he asked and then took a swig from his can. “Isn’t that supposed to be me?”

“I know what they do. The thought of you being like your dad… It’s both funny and horrifying.”

“I’m not my dad! And I don’t have to be like him. I won’t. He doesn’t want me, too, anyways. He said he wanted me to be my own person while in his position.”

“ _ Fuck _ , you said yes?” Was that a crack in her voice?

Rude.

He said, “You think I can’t do it?”

She came back in with a bottle of tequila and was occasionally taking sips, hand wrapped around its neck. “I know you can, but not right now. And Ez?”

“He wants us to do it together. Says it’s easier when spread across two people. But whenever he’s older.”

“Ugh, obviously. But still.”

“Still what? You don’t seem very confident in me.”

“It just means that I have to break my contract.  _ Sicarios _ can’t be biased parties, and I’ve taken jobs that hurt your dad’s business. But I refuse to do the same to you. Damnit,  _ El Rey  _ hits pay  _ really _ well. If I’d gotten you, I’d  _ literally _ be a billionaire right now.” Her expression turned thoughtful.

He never liked it when that happened. “What?”

“I could still become a billionaire…” she trailed off, smirking devilishly.

Was she joking about killing him? Again? Callum supposed her line of work meant he had a lifetime of murder jokes to look forward to.

“But not tonight,” she finished with a forlorn sigh. “Tonight, I need you for them  _ enchiladas suizas _ .”

He nodded slowly as he stood from the couch. He  _ did  _ promise to make those enchiladas in green sauce, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to actually doing it. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be the one becoming a billionaire tonight.” 

“Arsenic? We’ll make a killer out of you yet,” she joked.

He snipped back, “Don’t worry if you see rat poison on the counter and white powder in your food.”

“I won’t. As a matter of fact, I relish the thought.”

“Actually, I’ll wait until we have life insurance. That way I get double the payout from the hit on you  _ and _ from the insurance company.”

She threw her head back, giggling. “Stick it to the man, Lover Boy. Stick it to the man.”

 

 

  * ****18\. Of _Sicario_** **Ties****



 

 

Rayla was, surprisingly, a fan of Drake. Callum had the displeasure of being at her musical mercy whenever she was driving. It was a sort of unspoken rule that drivers got to pick the music. They were, after all, doing the driving.

“Oh!” she cheered, turning the volume knob up. “I  _ love  _ this song!”

She sang loudly,

_ And I’m so tired _

_ I fuck with the mob and I got ties _

_ Knock you off to pay their tithes _

_ They want me gone but don’t know why. _

 

The more he listened to the lyrics, the more amused he was. “This is basically  _ Sicario _ Ties, not Mob Ties,” he called over the music.

She gasped and looked over at him excitedly. “Yes! You’re right.” She began dancing in her seat, and Callum found himself gripping the overhead handle.

“Ray,  _ watch the road!  _ Be careful, you psycho,” he cried out.

She reached into her console and pulled out a pistol. “ _ Hire some help! Get rid of ‘em!” _ she continued to sing as she waved the gun around.

“Holy hell, Rayla! Put that  _ away _ ! That’s so dangerous. What are you doing?”He wasn’t well educated in gun safety, but he knew you weren’t supposed to be flapping them around and  _ pointing them at him _ . “Why are you pointing that at me!” Did his voice just crack? Yikes, she was crazy.

“ _ Whatever you did, it is what it is!” _

How long was this song? And how mad would she be if he just shut the radio off? Besides, he loved silly Rayla, and she didn’t appear very often. He couldn’t ruin her fun knowingly. So he stayed plastered to the passenger door and mildly fearing for his life. He was more afraid of her crashing than accidentally shooting him, but both were valid concerns.

“ _ It’s too late for all that!” _ She finally finished, aiming the gun at him. She pulled the trigger along with the last word, and Callum yelped out. He nearly peed himself, but there was a click from the pistol as the next song got started up.

“Are you  _ insane? _ ” he gritted out. Pretending to shoot him with a very  _ real _ gun was not as funny to him, or any sane person, as it was to her.

“Oh, chillax, Cal. There’s no clip in it,” she reassured him, tilting the gun up so he could see the empty butt. “I’d never willingly shoot you—”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” he breathed.

“Unless it was within reason,” she finished, nodding. She was far too pleased with her answer. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He was trying to decide whether or not to be offended as she stashed the gun away again. She made a fake pistol using her fingers.

“Pew,” she mimicked, pretending to shoot him  _ again. _ She really needed to stop doing that, but at least he knew this shot wouldn’t hurt, no matter what she did. “ _ Heard all of the talking, now it’s quiet, now shush _ .”

 He rolled his eyes at the lyrics.

“Mm… I think we’re listening to it again!” She pressed repeat on her phone and the beat began again.

Callum sighed. She was driving, and her music taste wasn’t going to change anytime soon. He supposed it was easier to join her than fight it.

And he began to mouth the words.

 

 

  * ****19\. Bonus: Of PC Pinata****



 

 

“Oh,  _ El Mago  _ came!” one of their friends called out as he entered the doorway.

_ El Mago _ .

The Magician.

Because his luck was so good, it had to be magic. Callum never tired of hearing his underworld name. Rayla thought it was the funniest thing ever. Ez always claimed Ray was the one that made everything happen, not luck. And Callum partially agreed.

_ Y _ his  _ Sombra de Luna _ !” his other friend called out.

A few moments later, Rayla came in behind, holding hands with their little girl. “Now the party can get started,” Ray cheered. And was it a party, even though it was for one of his friend’s kid’s birthday parties. Drug lords and their equally shady associates loved to drink and get wild. Callum and Rayla never did, but it was always amusing seeing the drunks be… Well, drunk.

Things got  _ really _ interesting when they brought out the pinata.

“What the  _ fuck  _ is a ‘PC pinata’?” Callum asked, watching as the children began to line up.

Rayla burst out laughing, leaning back into her chair. “It’s a ‘politically correct’ pinata. Get it? PC as in politically co—”

“Yes, I got that,” he sighed as she smirked.

“Anyways, you’re supposed to pull a string instead of hitting it with a stick.”

“Wait, what?” She was being totally serious, which made everything worse, somehow. “It’s just a pinata! At a  _ kid’s  _ party. Oof.” He reached for Ez’s drink and took a long swig, not even caring to check what alcohol was in. He just needed a drink after hearing that. His brother didn’t even object, continuing to converse with his wife.

“Yeah! And it’s a star. Because inanimate objects are preferable to people when it comes to pinatas. Especially pc ones.”

“So if you don’t hit it, what the hell do you do?” This had to be a dream. 

“You usually pull a string. Some people even give it a hug. Makes more sense when it’s a person pinata though.”

“Oh geez,” he sighed, rubbing his cheek. “And how would  _ you  _ know this?”

She shrugged. “I’m educated, Lover Boy. Get on my level.”

Callum glanced around the room, and he was struck once more by the oddness of the situation. “Wait a second. I know every person in here has at least killed  _ someone _ . And you’re telling me we are using a fucking politically correct pinata?”

Her smile only got wider, which he didn’t think was possible. “I’d actually argue everyone has killed at least  _ two  _ someones. Yet here we are, pulling strings and hugging pinatas.”

“At this point,” he grumbled, “it’s hardly a pinata.”

After their girl’s turn, she came running up to them, holding a little baggie. “Marcos dropped this, Mommy!” she left it in Rayla’s hands and hurried back to her friends.

They peered down at it, and now it was Callum’s turn to laugh. “Really? He still keeps baggies of coke in his pockets? You think he’d have learned by now.”

“Just be glad our baby is like  _ you _ and totally oblivious to everything. She’s always is curious and asks me all sorts of questions. ‘Why do you have a gun, why are you all bloody, what’s that in your hand’.”

“She’s smart, though. She’ll figure it out.”

“You’re smart, and you never did,” she reminded him, eyes glinting with wicked glee. She always got a kick out of how spacey he was.

“Oh, whatever,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Ever the sulker,” she sang, nudging him. “I love you, Callum.”

He found himself gazing at her face, trying to memorize the planes. A scar there, the hintings of a dimple. Just the barest of freckles. And crystal clear purple eyes, always finding their way into his soul.

He twisted the simple golden band on his left hand, an old habit that didn’t seem like it would die anytime soon.

“I love you, too,” he said softly.

And he meant it down to his atoms. 


End file.
